She knew she was risking everything but she couldn’t help it. Having it next to her under the covers was a solace she refused to part with.

‘Just leave that fucking thing out of the bedroom!’

She couldn’t confess to her sleeplessness; that she’d wake up at 3:00am and was kept up until 6:00am every morning. That she couldn’t bear the thought of a loved one’s death arriving in the middle of the night, via text, and it being on silent or away from her. She had already missed one call too many.

She couldn’t bear confess it, even when he had packed his things and left.


*Fear Of Missing Out